


Bruises

by thewestmeadow



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blood, Bruises, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Knives, Possessive Behavior, Pure Smut, luca gets turned on by violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 02:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18540439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewestmeadow/pseuds/thewestmeadow
Summary: After Luca sends you on a botched mob hit, he has some making up to do.





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> from a tumblr prompt: "Are you hurt?" "No." "Then why are there bruises all over your face?"

It was nearly midnight when you returned to the hotel. You walked the silent halls alone, watching the room numbers scroll past until you came to his door: number 216. As quietly as you could, you unlocked the door with the key he had made for you, stepping into the darkness.

Yet it wasn’t entirely dark. A dim lamp glowed by the window, faintly illuminating the figure of Luca Changretta in his chair.

You locked the door behind you out of habit and slipped the key into your pocket.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey.”

You leaned against the kitchen counter, utterly exhausted, and lifted your leg to unstrap the knife hidden beneath your pants leg. You set it on the counter and ran your hands through your hair.

“How’d it go?” came Luca’s voice.

You turned and slowly washed your hands in the sink as you answered. “As well as it could.” You could feel Luca’s eyes still on you, and they were heavy with concern.

“Come here.”

You dried your hands and stepped towards him. He remained in his chair, watching you approach like a king in his throne. Yet when you drew closer his brow furrowed in that sorrowful way which you were so familiar with. He held out his hand, gesturing for you to come nearer. You stepped into the golden glow of light surrounding him.

“Jesus,” he said under his breath.

“What?”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Then why are there bruises all over your face?”

Stunned, you gently pressed a hand to your face. You hissed a little in pain. Luca’s hand took you firmly around the wrist and pulled you down onto arm of his chair. His fingers brushed lightly over your skin, testing it, eyes flickering over the bruises.

“Somebody’s gonna die,” he warned.

“Somebody already did.”

“Did that somebody put these bruises here?”

“I don’t remember this happening.”

“How the fuck do you not remember?” It wasn’t chastising; more like highly concerned.

So you tried. Your own brow furrowed as you went over the events of the evening. The bar had been deserted when you had entered, and the bartender you had been ordered to kill was shutting down for the night. Putting on some charm, you implored him to let you stay for one drink while he wiped down the counters; it had been a long, emotional day, you lied, and you needed a drink more than anything in the world. So he poured you a whiskey.

You sat on one of the high stools at the polished bar while the bartender slowly swept a dishrag over the counter, now enraptured by your presence. You spun him a tale of heartache, and after a while he stopped cleaning the glasses and just leaned on the counter listening to you, eyes full of sympathy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he had murmured, “You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

You had finished your whiskey, and your mind was sharp as a deadly flame. Your doe eyes were fixed on him, while your fingers twitched towards the knife in your boot. As he leaned towards you, you grabbed him around the back of the neck, while your other hand swiftly unsheathed your blade and flicked it up to his throat. The counter was huge and awkward between you. You moved to slash the blade across his neck, but he moved faster. He ducked out of your grasp and started to bolt. Probably going for a gun behind the bar.

You vaulted over the bar to go after him. He was kneeling on the ground, clawing for the gun. You knocked into him full speed, sprawling him onto the ground. Straddling him, you mercilessly sliced at his throat. He flailed, smacking you right in the face. You didn’t feel it. The knife ripped across his skin. It was a messy job. He punched you again, full on. Blood started pumping out of his neck, and you finished the job swiftly as he weakened all at once.

By now, remembering everything, you were sobbing. The bartender had broken the skin when he swung at you. You didn’t even remember.

Luca pulled you down into his lap, whipping out his handkerchief and dabbing at your tears, your blood.

“My darling,” he whispered.

“I fucked it up. He didn’t die right away.”

“You did great. I wish I could have seen you.”

Impulsively, you grabbed Luca’s wrist, stopping his hand. You could feel his pulse under the thin skin. The tears had stopped, but your face was still damp, your eyes watery and red.

“He wanted to kiss me.”

“Did he now?” Luca breathed. He watched you, his dark eyes glittering, his face upturned in the light.

“He tried. That was right before I put the knife to his neck.”

“That’s my girl.”

He began to kiss your face, lightly, pressing the spots where the bruises bloomed. His lips were warm, and your face stung where he placed them. He moved down to your jaw, your throat, where the skin was soft and unbroken.

“You gave him what he deserved,” he murmured into the hair just behind your ear. “What other remnants did he leave for us?”

His fingers popped open the top button of your shirt, and his lips moved down to your collarbone.

“Leave him out of this,” you moaned softly, watching his head of dark hair moving over your chest. Suddenly he picked you up from your place in his lap and deftly carried you to the long sofa, where you stretched out beneath him. He knelt over you and continued undoing your buttons. He spread your shirt open and stopped as his eyes wandered over the bruises that spread darkly across your ribs.

“How can I leave him out of this,” he said, “when he’s wounded my baby?”

Luca’s fingers grazed your lower ribs, and your body arched at his touch.

“He needs to know that you’re mine,” he continued.

When he bent over you to kiss your ribs, your stomach, you could feel how hard he was against your thigh. You twined your fingers in his hair, forcing him to look up at you.

“I told him with my knife. I told him I belong to Luca Changretta, and no one else. Now he knows.”

Luca liked this. In fact, he loved it. Your pants were coming off under his hands as you shrugged off your shirt. He placed a hand lightly on your neck as he unzipped his own pants.

“You won’t be hurting anymore, baby,” he said, his voice husky and low.

“Make it go away,” you whispered, and the flame inside you leapt into him. Then it was only pleasure. No more pain.

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a step back from my longer fic to do this dark, twisted, indulgent oneshot. Saw the prompt and couldn't get it out of my head all day. Enjoy :)


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